Chapter 79
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 79
It was a beautiful forest, perfectly dappled with shade and sunlight. The old castle blended seamlessly with the ancient trees, looking like a natural extension of the woods themselves.
A shaft of sunlight pierced straight through the forest canopy like a spear, striking Rickert’s sword. The light flowed along the blade, running from the hilt to the very tip. A single droplet of light gathered at the edge of the steel, causing several onlookers to squint and shield their eyes.
Although the Third Prince was older than Rickert and already an adult, he had been raised like a hothouse flower. Faced with a wild beast reared in the wilderness, he had absolutely no idea how to handle the situation. No one had ever shouted at him like this before, and Rickert exuded a raw, commanding presence that made it hard to believe they were of a similar age.
In truth, Rickert had little interest in tormenting Marie. He simply enjoyed showing off his supposed superiority over the Crown Prince. Yet, when confronted with a real crisis, he lacked the competence to handle it. A duel? He had only ever heard of such things in stories.
The nine-year-old Crown Prince was startled, but his expression quickly shifted to one of curiosity. He found this fascinating, even thrilling. His eyes grew wide and round, blinking as he stared at Rickert, utterly transfixed.
Bellator, who had accompanied Rickert here, watched him from a distance. He had never witnessed such sheer, unyielding confidence within the imperial palace. It was shocking, yet at the same time, magnetic.
For the first time in his life, Bellator understood what it meant to think someone was truly magnificent. In the imperial palace, there was no one with enough warrior's grit to serve as a role model. Everyone bowed their heads and feigned politeness, but their underlying contempt was always painfully obvious. Because of this, Bellator had assumed that all humans were inherently two-faced.
Yet here stood someone who was entirely genuine. So this is what a real man looks like, he thought.
Bewilderment, curiosity, and awe. The three princes each felt entirely different emotions as they gazed at Rickert.
The ones who were truly displeased, however, were the swordsmen who had gathered for the tournament. A subtle, murderous tension rippled through their ranks. Yet, out of respect for the presence of the Crown Prince and the other royals, they held themselves back.
Having passed Hellauman’s rigorous screening to stay at the palace, these swordsmen were all highly skilled. Rickert was not the only one who had engaged in life-or-death duels; they, too, had crossed their share of deadly thresholds. They keenly assessed Rickert’s capabilities—his posture, his breathing, the look in his eyes, and his mana.
The more one mastered the Mana Drive, the more accurately they could gauge an opponent’s mana. While they were not on Hellauman’s level, almost everyone present could read another’s energy with near-perfect precision.
Yet strangely, they could detect no trace of mana from Rickert. This was baffling, considering he had just deflected a flying dagger mid-air. It was a feat bordering on the miraculous. Even with a mastered Mana Drive, intercepting a projectile mid-flight by throwing another object from a different angle was nearly impossible.
That single display was proof enough of Rickert’s right to reside in the palace. It demonstrated a level of precision and reflexes that seemed almost superhuman.
But if I were to face him, who would win? Could I defeat him without taking injury? He seems to practice longsword fencing, but isn't that blade a bit too large for his build? What style does he use? Is it the fierce, aggressive style typical of the North?
Forgetting their desire to curry favor with the Crown Prince and the Third Prince, the swordsmen stared at Rickert like predators sizing up an unfamiliar rival. None of them were afraid, yet none dared to make a reckless move.
Then, someone stepped forward. It was Riberio the Skipping Stone. Whether it was sheer hubris or because he believed he had figured Rickert out, no one could say.
"I believe I told you to be humble, brat. You really don't listen, do you? Well, we still have time before the tournament, so a little entertainment won't hurt."
Keeping his distance from Rickert, who stood with his back to the castle, Riberio began to slowly circle him like a prowling wolf. He drew a slender side sword with his right hand and gripped a dagger in his left. He was a dual-wielder. It was an exceptionally difficult style to master, but in the hands of an expert, it was incredibly formidable.
"I hear you killed a Swordmaster. But did you know? Once people reach that level, they often end up fighting only those weaker than themselves, and their skills actually deteriorate. I heard that 'Mad Dog' fellow did nothing but slaughter peasants. It doesn't take a genius to figure out his actual level."
"I'm sorry, but I've never heard of you," Rickert replied.
In other words, a nobody like Riberio wasn't even worth his attention.
"Hmph. Let me introduce myself again. I am Riberio, the Fourth Sword of the Bonatelli family. Did you learn your swordplay from your house? Or at that Academy? Whichever it is, your style lacks pedigree. I'll show you the difference between a proper, refined style and a brat who merely relies on raw talent."
Just like their encounter in the hallway, Rickert had no idea what the man was prattling on about. He understood the man was proud, but what did pedigree matter in a life-and-death duel?
Riberio assumed his stance from a distance. With his left foot forward, he extended his dagger while raising his side sword above his head, aiming its tip directly at Rickert. Yet with every step he took, he fluidly shifted his weapons, pulling the dagger back and thrusting the side sword forward. It seemed like a minor adjustment, but it effectively blurred the line between his feints and his actual strikes.
The danger of such a style was that a clumsy user would only confuse themselves. However, since Riberio had caught Hellauman’s eye, there was no doubt he could execute the transitions flawlessly. Stepping forward, then to the side, constantly swapping his lead hand, Riberio closed the distance.
Because of the stark difference in length between the side sword and the dagger, keeping track of his reach was a nightmare whenever he switched hands. At least, it would have been for anyone else.
Rickert bent his knees slightly, raising his sword to the side of his face. His cool, piercing gaze remained locked onto Riberio’s eyes.
Then, in the middle of a transition, Riberio suddenly lunged, thrusting his side sword straight forward. The duel had begun.
Rickert swung his sword in a direct arc. His strike was far faster and more powerful than in the past. Yet Riberio’s incoming blade bounced and skipped in a split second, living up to his moniker. Deflecting off Rickert’s blade, Riberio’s sword grazed Rickert’s upper right arm in a shallow cut. Simultaneously, Riberio sidestepped, narrowly evading Rickert’s counter.
Whoosh! Clack!
A rose-colored afterimage lingered in the air. Riberio was clearly on the cusp of becoming a Swordmaster. He unleashed his true killing blow, thrusting his dagger upward toward Rickert’s abdomen. From a distance, it looked as though he were stabbing with a streak of brilliant red.
Yet in that fleeting instant, Rickert pulled back his overextended sword and brought the pommel of his hilt crashing down directly onto the incoming dagger.
Shatter!
The mana-infused dagger shattered into pieces. Before Riberio could even register the pain in his wrist, he scrambled backward to put distance between them. His ability to react instantly despite his sudden panic was commendable. But his bewilderment was absolute.
How was that even possible?
Channeling mana into a weapon vastly enhanced its sharpness and durability. In an era where the quality of ironware varied wildly, this technique alone granted immense power. A true Swordmaster could slice through shields and armor as if they were cheese.
Yet Rickert had shattered a mana-infused blade with nothing but his pommel. It was a feat that defied all common sense.
The spectating swordsmen were equally stunned. Even now, they could detect absolutely no mana from Rickert. This impossible feat was only possible because Rickert possessed the strength of Ilya, the legendary Dragonslayer. His raw physical power surpassed that of most warriors channeling a Mana Drive.
Rickert pursued the retreating Riberio relentlessly. Rather than striking immediately, he focused on closing the gap. Despite possessing superhuman strength, he did not rely on brute force alone.
Riberio quickly sidestepped and lashed out with his side sword, aiming for Rickert’s sword-hand. Rickert angled his blade, catching the swift, wind-like strike on his guard.
Clang!
Red mana erupted from the clash like an explosion. Riberio immediately followed up with a seamless flurry of strikes.
Whoosh! Thud!
His stylish, slicked-back black hair and the single ruby earring dangling from his ear spun through the air as Riberio’s head was severed from his shoulders.
His momentum-driven body spun wildly out of control before collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud, spraying a perfect arc of crimson onto the grass. The head, which had flown high into the air, landed with a dull thud only after the torso had fallen.
Thus, the swordsman of noble pedigree met his end, decapitated, and the duel was over.
A shiver ran down the spines of the spectating swordsmen. Witnessing such an unorthodox style be so cleanly dismantled and terminated left them momentarily speechless. They knew that while it looked effortless, it was anything but. Most of all, Rickert had remained entirely calm and unhurried, his movements devoid of any waste from start to finish.
Even with the duel concluded, Rickert showed no excitement. He merely looked down calmly at the tear in his right sleeve. There was no blood; the blade had failed to pierce his skin.
"Wow..."
The Crown Prince, who had watched the entire exchange, gasped in wide-eyed admiration.
"What was that? I couldn't even see it properly! That was amazing!"
The young prince began to eagerly trot toward the victorious swordsman without a shred of fear. The nearby royal guards quickly intercepted him, lifting him off his feet to hold him back.
"What are you doing? Let me go!"
"He has not sheathed his weapon yet, Your Highness."
Hearing the guard, Rickert wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed it. The moment the sword clicked into place, the Crown Prince broke free and ran over, looking up at Rickert with shining eyes.
"That was incredible! I've never seen a real duel before. You're Rickert of the Caldebern family, right? Are you participating in the tournament too?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Rickert replied, bowing his head.
Despite the freshly decapitated corpse lying only paces away, the young prince paid it no mind. He was already well-accustomed to such sights from witnessing public executions. At this moment, he was simply captivated by the raw spectacle of two swordsmen clashing with their lives on the line.
Of course, Rickert hadn't even exerted his full strength, but to a child completely ignorant of the sword, it was a breathtaking display nonetheless.
"Aren't you scared?" the Crown Prince asked.
"Everyone is afraid at first, Your Highness. But once you adapt, the fear fades."
"Really? Then how much do I have to practice to fight like you do?"
"I cannot say for certain. However, if you train diligently and test your limits in battle, there comes a moment when you find your conviction."
"Is that so? Excellent. Then you must teach me swordsmanship! Come to my chambers every morning. I already have a sword instructor, but he isn't nearly as cool as you."
"..."
This was entirely unexpected. Rickert felt a headache coming on, sensing he was about to be dragged into something incredibly tedious. Yet, he had no choice. Not if he wanted to protect Marie.
"In exchange, Your Highness, could you release Imperial Princess Martelia from her confinement and ensure that no one torments her again?"
"Hmm... I would love to grant your request, but that was decided by the Count Palatine, so I would have to ask Grandmother. She will probably say no. I'm sorry."
The true rulers of the palace lay elsewhere—namely, the Empress Dowager and Hellauman. The Crown Prince was still far too young to make any real decisions.
"...I understand. I shall see you tomorrow morning, then."
"No, wait! I want to talk to you more. Come with me."
With that, the prince grabbed Rickert’s hand—still slightly stained with blood—and began dragging him away. The Third Prince and Bellator could only watch in silence. Rickert, utterly bewildered, allowed himself to be led away, with the royal guards trailing close behind.
Meanwhile, the swordsmen of the Crown Prince’s faction, who had spent days desperately trying to curry favor with the young heir, were left utterly dumbfounded. Rickert had stolen the spotlight in a single instant.
*
The prince dragged Rickert through the forest and straight into his personal chambers. The room was vast and extravagantly decorated, yet it managed to look elegant rather than gaudy. Mobiles hung from the ceiling, and mountains of exotic toys were piled high. Every single item was a masterpiece, meticulously crafted by the finest artisans in the empire.
"Do you see any toys you like? I can give you one if you want," the Crown Prince asked with an innocent, untainted smile.
Rickert couldn't tell if the boy was merely naive or truly pure-hearted. At the prince’s age, Rickert had already left home, slain bandits, and survived on bloody battlefields. It was clear the young prince had no idea how to truly connect with people. To him, relationships were simple: if he liked someone, he gave them gifts; if he disliked them, he ran to his grandmother to have them punished. Having never had a true friend in his life, it was perhaps only natural.
Consequently, everyone except the other princes walked on eggshells, constantly trying to cater to his every whim. But Rickert had no intention of doing so. Right now, his thoughts were entirely consumed by Marie.
"They are fascinating, but I have no interest in them, Your Highness. I am merely a swordsman here to compete in the tournament. I must compose my mind and focus on the upcoming matches, so I shall take my leave. I will attend to you every morning, but I cannot spend my time playing with you."
"Huh? Uh... wait..."
Having never been refused in his entire life, the Crown Prince was momentarily stunned. Rickert was polite, yet entirely devoid of servility or flattery. He had never met anyone like this. A sudden wave of anxiety washed over the prince as he desperately wondered how he could win Rickert’s favor.
"I—I can give you a fine sword! Or a horse! I even have rare armor. You like those things, right?"
Rickert shook his head. While he appreciated such things, he could not accept them as bribes. True connection, whether friendship or affection, was not something that could be bought.
"A person's heart cannot be bought with wealth or material goods, Your Highness. Do not be in such a rush; we can become friends slowly. After all, there is always tomorrow."
"I... I have to wait until tomorrow?"
Having always obtained whatever he desired the very instant he wanted it, the concept of patience was entirely foreign to him.
"If waiting is difficult, why not occupy yourself with something else? Time flies when you are busy."
"Like what?"
"You could read a book, or perhaps practice your swordplay, since you mentioned wanting to learn. Try revisiting the things you cast aside out of boredom. You might find a joy in them that you missed before."
"...Should I? Alright. I'll give it a try."
"I shall take my leave, Your Highness."
"Okay..." the prince murmured, looking downcast.
Seeing the boy look so dejected, Rickert realized he wasn't inherently a bad child. He was simply a product of his environment, stunted by his upbringing. In a way, the title of Crown Prince seemed like a curse. It had robbed him of the chance to learn, to struggle, to endure pain, to overcome adversity, and ultimately, to grow as a human being.
Like a beautiful bird, Rickert had captured the young prince’s heart only to slip away from his grasp. He made his way back toward Irmin Castle.
When he arrived, the corpse had already been cleared away, leaving only a dark stain of blood on the grass. The grounds around the castle were deserted. The crowd had only gathered to curry favor with the Crown Prince and the Third Prince; once the royals departed, the onlookers had naturally dispersed as well.
Rickert looked up at the window. They were so close, yet they could not see each other. He sat down, leaning his back against the stone wall of the castle, and waited in silence.
Should I call out to her? Would that be alright?
A flurry of thoughts crossed his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to act. As he sat there hesitating, the hours slipped away, and the sun dipped below the horizon.
Rickert stood up, intending to return to the palace, but then, with a sudden surge of reckless determination, he grabbed hold of the thick ivy vines and began to scale the castle wall. It was an incredibly dangerous endeavor. If a vine snapped, he would plunge to the ground and suffer severe injuries. Sure enough, the vines groaned and frayed under his weight, nearly giving way several times, but Rickert pressed on until he reached the window sill.
Soft moonlight bathed the interior of the room. The bed was shrouded in sheer silk drapes, behind which a faint silhouette was visible.
"Marie," he called softly.
Rickert balanced on the vines and leaned against the window frame. But the silhouette on the bed did not move.
"Marie, it's me. Ricky. Are you alright? I came because I was worried about you."
Rickert spoke again, but only silence answered him. Then, after a long pause, a voice drifted out.
"What does it matter to you?"
Her words were cold, but her voice trembled ever so slightly. Hearing her voice for the first time in so long, Rickert felt a sudden warmth swell in his chest.
"I have something to tell you. Won't you come out for a moment?"
"..."
After another long silence, Marie parted the silk drapes and stepped out. She wore a thin nightgown, her long hair cascading down her shoulders. The gentle moonlight draping over her looked like a gown woven specifically for her.
She was breathtakingly beautiful, but her expression was as cold as ice. Sensing her silent demand for him to speak, Rickert gathered his courage and broke the silence.
"First of all... well, I came here to participate in the tournament."
"...If you win, isn't that the last thing you wanted?"
Winning the tournament meant betrothal to Marie. But Rickert had rejected her feelings in the past. That was what she was referring to.
"No, I want it. Because I like you too."
Rickert smiled, offering his feelings with simple, unadorned honesty. Marie’s expression faltered into confusion. She knew he was not the type to jest about such matters.
What is he saying?
But Rickert was not finished.
"You see, I carry a deep wound inside me. I was terrified that if I truly allowed myself to love someone, that wound would only tear open wider, and I would lose myself completely. To be honest, I'm still incredibly anxious. I think I just needed time to find my way to you. But I can say this with absolute certainty now: I love you, Marie."
Marie stared at him, her gaze locking onto his eyes. Those unwavering hazel eyes. They were purer than anything else in the world, eyes utterly incapable of deceit. Marie knew that better than anyone.
Marie blinked, her long eyelashes fluttering rapidly as a deeply complex, delicate wave of emotion washed over her features. She looked as though she might burst into tears at any second, yet a radiant smile threatened to break through the overwhelming tide of her feelings. Her heart was caught in such a wild, unpredictable tumult that she honestly couldn't tell if she was on the verge of weeping from lingering sorrow or from sheer, unadulterated joy.
Suddenly embarrassed by her own raw vulnerability, she turned her head away. She let her long golden hair, which shimmered like spun silk in the pale moonlight, fall forward to veil her face. The agonizing heartache she had endured for so incredibly long vanished into the night like a fleeting bad dream. In its place came a sudden, dizzying rush of pure, overwhelming ecstasy. The sensation was so intensely powerful that she felt lightheaded, her breath catching in her throat as if she might actually faint right there on the spot.
She tried her hardest to force a casual, dismissive smile, but her trembling hands betrayed her. She couldn't stop wiping away the hot tears that inevitably spilled over her lashes and trailed down her cheeks. Each heavy droplet that fell seemed to catch the ambient moonlight, sparkling brilliantly like beads of liquid silver against her skin.
"May I wipe your tears?" Rickert asked softly. He had been watching her this entire time, his gaze filled with a quiet, unwavering tenderness that made her heart skip a beat.
"What are you talking about, dummy?" she sniffled, her voice wavering slightly. "I can wipe them myself."
"Hmm," Rickert mused, a playful glint entering his eyes. "I suppose Bori was right after all."
"Huh?"
"Bori said you're basically a female Ricky."
Marie was so utterly dumbfounded by the comparison that her tears seemed to dry up instantly. Letting out a breathless, incredulous laugh, she turned back to look at him. Her tear-rimmed sapphire eyes sparkled vividly in the darkness of the night.
Rickert gazed right back at her, offering the absolute gentlest smile she had ever seen grace his features. "What do you think? Do you think he's right about that?"
"No. Not at all," she retorted, crossing her arms. "You're absolutely the worst, you know."
"But you like me anyway," he pointed out smoothly.
"Ha!"
Marie let out a loud scoff of sheer disbelief. Yet, deep down, she knew she couldn't deny a single word of it, and a helpless, affectionate smile bloomed unbidden on her lips.
"Does that make me a male version of Marie, then?" he teased.
"Stop it, Ricky. That's really not funny."
"But you're already smiling."
"That's only because I'm completely dumbfounded!" she insisted, her cheeks flushing warm. "It's definitely not because you're actually funny."
"Sure, let's go with that," Rickert conceded with a soft chuckle. "So, how have you been? How are things at the Academy?"
"Boring, mostly," she sighed, leaning into the conversation. "Kali wants to become a professor now. Did you know he's actually surprisingly good with a sword?"
"Really? I had no idea."
"Yeah. That book Boribori wrote seems to be helping him out a lot."
"What about mine?" Rickert asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well..." Marie trailed off. She couldn't quite bring herself to tell him the harsh truth—that absolutely no one at the Academy read his book because they couldn't make heads or tails of the dense material. "They don't read it much... It seems like only the highly advanced students can truly appreciate it."
"Just as I thought," Rickert nodded sagely. "My book truly is superior."
"...Sure," she muttered, rolling her eyes playfully. "Anyway, how have you been?"
"Oh, right. Marie, have you ever seen a vampire? A High Vampire, specifically."
"A vampire?"
"You get your first request after graduation, right? You remember Sally? Well, she..."
Rickert began to recount his harrowing experience with last year's Special-Grade Request. It had been an absolutely extraordinary journey, and in a way, he knew he might not have been standing here tonight if not for Armand. Armand's profound advice to truly face himself had given him the necessary courage to slowly overcome his deepest fears and, finally, to lay bare his heart to the girl he loved.
They fell into an easy, trivial chatter, conversing as naturally as if they had only just seen each other yesterday. It was incredibly comfortable between them, and that simple, quiet comfort was everything they could ever need. They needed nothing grand or ostentatious. For as long as they were looking into each other's eyes, even the most mundane, everyday things became completely extraordinary.
Before she even fully realized what she was doing, Marie had settled comfortably onto the windowsill, looking down at Rickert with rapt attention as she listened to his sprawling story. In the warm, affectionate gaze shared between the boy and the girl, it felt as though countless stars were pouring forth into the night.
Then, without either of them consciously realizing the distance closing, their lips finally met in a tender embrace.
As if to shield their intimate moment from any prying eyes, a lone cloud drifted quietly past, briefly veiling the brilliant light of the moon.
Arc 15 – The Imperial Princess in the Oak Forest. End.